


and all i want is to be near you

by averysmallbird



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Established Relationship, Fluffy Angst, I guess???, M/M, Relationship Study, canonverse, i have..so many emotions, lies down, oh ya also, this is so self-indulgent sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-04-27 12:54:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5049376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/averysmallbird/pseuds/averysmallbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm really tired, Hajime."</p><p>The ache in his chest throbs in time to the syllables of his given name. Iwaizumi viciously ignores it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and all i want is to be near you

**Author's Note:**

> i haven't written anything in ages but i was inspired but also writing is hard and takes so long omg
> 
> this is my first post on here  
> it ends so awkwardly but i really didn't know what else...to put....I edited a lot already omg lol
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ez7fB0paaWg
> 
> also this song hit me right in the honey nut feelios

"If you died right now, what would your final wish be?"

Innocently asked, the weight of the question slices through the warm silence of the classroom, startling Iwaizumi out of the catharsis that slow, lazy afternoons bring. He blinks slowly, once to slip back into the realm of the waking, twice to process what he's being asked, and then again to formulate an answer.

"I guess that I'd want my mom and dad to be well taken care of...and for people not to mourn for long." It's an offhand response, simple and said as soon as it's come to mind. Iwaizumi glances sidelong at Oikawa who's sitting to the left of him, cracking a wide yawn as he does so. Slumped over a desk adjacent to the window as he reads what's most likely a magazine, Iwaizumi’s certain Oikawa isn’t studying, like they'd come here to do, but to be fair neither is he. Filtered sunlight streams in through the wide windows, catching dancing dust and glinting gold off strands of auburn hair that sweep every which way. Long shadows slink along the width of the room, and Iwaizumi studies Oikawa’s reflection in the window, the faint shapes of his illuminated face faded against the backdrop of the school courtyard. A bird flits across his cheekbones, drawing Iwaizumi's attention to the crescents of lavender under his half-lidded eyes.

"What quiz are you doing now?" Iwaizumi stands up, yawning again and stretching his arms over his head, relishing in the pull of muscles that have been stuck in the same position for too long and the pops of his joints settling into place. Dragging his chair over to the side of Oikawa's desk, he plops down and peers over his friend's arm, brows furrowed when he's met with an actual textbook, instead of Popteen like he'd been expecting. "What the hell," Iwaizumi says, pursing his lips. "You've been letting me slack off while you're actually studying?"

Oikawa doesn't respond right away, and the crease between Iwaizumi's eyebrows deepens. Now that he's awake, there's a certain heaviness to the air that's draped across the taller boy's shoulders. It's something that's been omnipresent lately, a yoke of things unsaid and unseen, but Iwaizumi has noticed it like he notices everything and anything that concerns Oikawa.

There's only the sound of pages turning, and the soft drum of Oikawa's fingers against the desktop for a while.

Iwaizumi waits patiently.

The rhythmic tapping fades out, evolving into the soft whisper of fingers ghosting over Iwaizumi's arm. Oikawa's fingertips are cold, dotting ice across the tendons and veins in his forearm, like he's marking waypoints until he's got their fingers laced together, sapping the warmth from Iwaizumi's palm. Iwaizumi freezes, eyes flicking toward the empty doorway and back before he reciprocates, flexing his thick, knobby fingers between Oikawa's longer, spindly ones.

"Your cuticles are awful, Iwa-chan. What do you moisturize with, rock salt?" Oikawa's voice is low, as slow and sweet as molasses, but his hand is a block of ice, frozen and unmoving. Iwaizumi huffs out a laugh, knocking a knee against one of Oikawa's, the bottom of his shoe scuffing against the classroom floor. "Eh? Are you offering to fix them for me? If not, don't complain."

There's a tightness, something aching in the middle of his chest that's simultaneously hollow and heavy at the same time.

Oikawa doesn't respond again, opting instead to finally turn and face Iwaizumi. He's filigreed in light, a stray beam managing to catch the edge of one of his eyes, turning it the color of lukewarm tea, lit up from the inside out. Iwaizumi swallows hard. Long lashes spill shadow over the slope of Oikawa's cheekbones as he sighs, warm breath carrying a hint of sour from the bread he'd eaten for lunch. “Not even I can fix what's unfixable," he murmurs in a mockery of his usual jovial tone.

A pause.

"I'm really tired, Hajime."

The ache in his chest throbs in time to the syllables of his given name. Iwaizumi viciously ignores it.

Oikawa moves sluggishly, turning in his chair and worming closer until his body is pressed against Iwaizumi's own as they meet each other in the middle, chairs squeaking against tile. A hand tucks itself against Iwaizumi's lower back, the cold, damp press of Oikawa's nose startling against the sweltering crook of his neck. Wisps of Oikawa's hair brush against Iwaizumi's lips and nose, the faint scent of skin and tea tree and mint filling his senses. Iwaizumi wets his lips, grasping at words that dart away as soon as he gets close like the dragonflies he'd never been able to catch as a child.

He settles for second best, a succinct response in place of the gossamer words he’s no good with.

“Don’t push yourself so hard, Oikawa. Let’s head home, you look like you could use the sleep.”

In response Oikawa’s fingers tighten against his shirt, strangling the material in their grasp as he noses up the tendon that stretches the breadth between Iwaizumi’s ear and collarbone. Iwaizumi feels a puff of air, hears the impatient noise stuck in the back of Oikawa’s throat and acquiesces, reaching one hand up to cup the back of his head, nails scratching against his scalp as he plays with the fine strands of hair, slightly stiff with product.

“Hajime, do you know what I’d wish for?”

Oikawa continues before Iwaizumi can reply. “I wish we could just run away. That we could be reborn as the same people, and have this same life, up until this point. Maybe we would go to Yakushima or Tanegashima. We could get a small house, and a boat. I think you’d be a good fisherman, Hajime. Or we could go to Tokyo, get a really small, shitty apartment and start new lives. Or maybe get on a plane and just leave Japan. We could go where no one would even care who we were.” Oikawa pauses, takes a shuddering breath, and then -

“I’m not ready for this to end.”

Iwaizumi hates hearing Oikawa like this, his voice dull and lackluster, devoid of the edge and spark that makes him so magnetic. The cadence is non-existent, flat lining emotion, and Iwaizumi feels that tightness intensify, fishhooks sinking into his heart before they tug in opposite directions to try to pull him apart. He can’t break down though, not now. Theirs is a relationship of equivalency, of give and take, push and pull. Right now, he is the rock, immovable even in the face of a tide growing turbulent.

He knows Oikawa isn’t talking about high school, isn’t even talking about the team. Iwaizumi knows he wants to spend the rest of his life with this boy, but he knows that they both have their own paths to walk before that can happen, their own struggles to overcome, their own lives to lead. He knows that to be separated is an opportunity for growth, and Oikawa knows this too, but it’s a bittersweet thought, at best.

Gently, Iwaizumi slides his hands down, tracing his thumbs underneath the defined ridge of Oikawa’s jawline, forefingers against the root of his ear. Drawing back, he raises a hand to push Oikawa’s fringe out of his eyes and then leans forward to knock their foreheads together.

Oikawa’s chin is warm against his cupped palms, and Iwaizumi strokes the rough pads of his thumbs against soft skin, feeling the barely there scratch of a spot Oikawa had missed while shaving this morning. He loves this boy - this man, with all his heart, his soul, his being. Loves him with seventeen years of intensity, and perhaps lifetimes before that, too.

“Hey. Nothing’s ending. You think just because I’m going to be more than a stone’s throw away from your place, we’re suddenly going to just cease to exist in each other’s lives?”

Silence meets his words, speaking volumes. Fingers curl around his sides, spidering sensation underneath the starched fabric of his shirt. Even with that thin barrier separating Oikawa’s hands from his rib cage, he’s affected, pulse skipping a beat as a hand slides upward to rest over his heart.

“Tooru,” Iwaizumi exhales, and Oikawa’s shoulders tremble, drawing up towards his ears. “Tooru, don’t cry. We still have the rest of the year, and the summer, and even after that. I’m not going to leave you Tooru, and you damn well better not give up on me.” Muscle and bone flex under his touch, the set of Oikawa’s jaw hardening as Iwaizumi knows he’s forcing back tears, back selfish, irrational emotion that he doesn’t think he’s allowed.

Iwaizumi also knows that the dam, as always, will eventually break.

Oikawa Tooru is not fragile. Oikawa Tooru is brittle, hard and unyielding in his pride, his ambition, his loyalty. Unwilling to bend as he pushes himself further and further until he cracks under the pressure of the obligations he piles on top of himself in an effort to be everything that's expected of him, and more. Iwaizumi is so proud of him, has never not been proud of him, in this sense. It is here, in Iwaizumi’s arms that Oikawa allows himself to fracture into a thousand metallic shards, as Iwaizumi welds him back together with the heat of his lips, his fingers, his words, until he’s whole again, and stronger for it.

The first sob is a wretched, twisted breath, strangled in Oikawa’s throat. Iwaizumi’s hands fall from Oikawa’s face, to his back, anchoring an arm around his waist, the other burying in the thick mass of his hair. He presses Oikawa’s face to his shoulder, wracked with second hand tremors as the storm begins.

It’s never delicate, the way Oikawa cries. His sadness is monsoonal, all-encompassing to the very tips of his fingers that dig almost painfully into Iwaizumi’s ribs, to his ankles that hook around the legs of the chair to anchor himself. Saltwater blots against Iwaizumi’s neck and he holds on, holds Oikawa and tenderly rubs his back until his choked howling turns stilted, petering out into the occasional hiccup and snotty sniffle of his nose.

Then it's quiet for a few long minutes, save for slow, shuddering breaths against his shoulder.

In the classroom, it’s still warm, the downward creep of the sun indifferent to their moment. Time does not stand still, and dusk is dripping indigo onto the pink-orange of sunset, lilac blooming between night and day. It’s getting late, Iwaizumi realizes, hands still rubbing Oikawa’s back with soothing intent. “Hajime,” Oikawa rasps out, and Iwaizumi dips his head down, pressing a kiss to his temple.

“Tooru,” he responds quietly, nails tracing up and down the ridges of Oikawa’s spine.

“Hajime, I love you, you know?” Oikawa’s voice is thick, sticking to the back of his throat, and Iwaizumi blinks away the wetness that springs unbidden to the corners of his eyes, but revels in the swell of his heart.

“Yea, I know. I love you too. I love you a lot.”

It’s a deeper love, more than childish whispers of ‘i like you’, more than the love notes that Oikawa finds in his locker daily, that Iwaizumi is confronted with sometimes, prepared by infatuated girls, pressing hearts onto envelopes with shaky hands and heads full of rose-colored dreams.

It’s akin to what he sees in his grandmother’s eyes, when she talks about her late husband before going home and eating dinner at her small table across from a picture and an untouched bowl of rice.

The shadows grow across the desks as the clock on the wall ticks, the low light turning Oikawa into a masterpiece of chiaroscuro as he raises his head, eyes puffy and face blotchy. He stares at Iwaizumi for a beat before he ducks in for a hesitant kiss, cheeks wet with tears. It’s soft, the way he licks into Iwaizumi’s mouth but Iwaizumi doesn’t mind.

He parts his lips in turn and lets Oikawa take what he needs. They separate with a small, slick noise and Oikawa sighs, leaning back as Iwaizumi presses forward, taking the lead, relishing in the soft sound he’s rewarded with as he returns Oikawa’s gentleness.

They don’t delve past the chaste meeting of lips and fingertips tracing over uniform shirts, and for a while they are content, until Oikawa yawns loudly in the middle of a kiss, wrenching a surprised laugh from Iwaizumi.

“Am I that boring? Jeez, I guess I won’t kiss you anymore, then.” He teases as Oikawa covers his face with a hand, red dusting the tips of his ears. “Shut up, Hajime,” he groans, voice still wispy with a sadness that hasn’t quite dissipated, but his fingers feel warmer, and Iwaizumi’s chest feels lighter. Kissing around Oikawa’s fingers, he pries them away from his face, wipes the residual wetness from his eyes and brushes their noses together.

“You know, I think I want ice cream now instead,” Oikawa whispers, a small, fleeting smile curving the edges of his lips, the warmth returning to his voice and they share a laugh as Iwaizumi intertwines their hands, squeezing tight.

One day, they will part at a fork in the road with heavy hearts and lingering touches that don't last long enough. They'll be reduced to phone calls and pictures, to train tickets and fleeting moments on weekends and holidays. To sighed renditions of each other's names on webcam late at night when they should be studying. It will be hard, but as Iwaizumi looks at Oikawa, his eyes big and still wet with tears but fond all the same, he knows that it's going to be worth it.

For now, they'll be just fine.


End file.
